The League
by Za Raapini
Summary: Ponies playing basketball? In a professional league? On Draft Day Slam Dunk sees his dreams being crushed right in front of him, and he ends up saddled on the laughingstock of the league- The Los Pegasus Kickers. Gritting his teeth against a perceived injustice, he will try to do everything he can to show Equestria he doesn't belong on a team that dwells in the basement every year.
1. Draft Day

The League  
By Za Raapini

Legendary. That was the only word to describe this building. Mareson Square Garden, home of the New Yoke Bucks. Generations of players had entered the league from this very building, this hallowed ground of steel and concrete. As ponies walked by you could taste the history in the air, feel it with every step. This was a magical place.

This was the spot where careers began. It was time for Dunk to start his.

He entered the building with his best friend from college, Foul Line, and made his way over to the waiting area.

As he walked through he looked at all the reporters in the area, all the journalists, ponies whose livelihoods were based off others' abilities on the court. These were the ponies who would be putting Slam Dunk's legacy into words for future stars to emulate and desire, to live by. Because really, who's legacy would they be writing about instead?

He stopped to breath in the history in the making, then smiled to himself.

"You know, it's funny Foul. In twenty years, they'll mark this as the day when the league changed. They might end up having to change the rules because of me, make it harder to score," Dunk said with gushing confidence. Foul Line seemed to pause before he responded.

"Yeah bro. First you gotta get drafted though you know? Each journey begins with a single step and all that," Foul said.

"Oh come on man! Who wouldn't draft a power forward with a mean three pointer?," Dunk said. Again Foul Line seemed to pause. What was with him? He had been acting weird ever seen they had both declared for the draft.

_Probably worried that he won't get picked. Pretty legit concern- all he can really do is rebound. Yeah, important, but his shooting percentages are just awful! He __**never**__ puts up points like I do_ Dunk thought.

"Yeah, sure dude. Let's just take our seats, huh?" Foul finally said.

With that the pair walked to the main floor, and looked at all the hopefuls. With just two rounds in the draft, only sixty ponies would hear their names today. Dunk wondered how Foul would take it when he wasn't drafted. Hopefully he knew it was coming. He was a good friend, but he just lacked the style necessary to make it in the bigs.

Silence suddenly overtook the room as the EBL Commissioner, Stern Gaze, walked up to the podium. A few boos hissed here and there, and all they got in response was a smirk. He cleared his throat and began talking.

"Hello ladies and gentlecolts. Welcome to the two thousand thirty two EBL Draft. The winner of this year's lottery was the Coltcago Bulls, so they will select first."

There was a wave of cheers throughout the audience, with many side conversations erupting as to who the lucky pony might be to be the first pick in the draft. Dunk let the wave of noise wash over him, and he tuned it out. He only needed to hear two words. That was all he was waiting on.

Finally the Bulls indicated their selection to Gaze, and he walked back up to the podium. Dunk wondered what he should say when the commissioner announced his name. He had prepared a quick speech of course, but it never hurt to go over it again.

"And with the first overall pick in the two thousand and thirty two draft EBL Draft, the Coltcago Bulls select…Alley-Oop out of Cloudsdale University!" Gaze announced to the crowd.

Dunk listened to the whoops and hollers of the audience, and took it all in. He wasn't first, but it wasn't that big of a deal he guessed. Alley-Oop was phenomenal on the fast break, and the Bulls had been needing that for ages. He could deal with that.

The power forward settled back in and waited for the next name to be called. He would be selected. He was sure of it.

000

"And with the thirty first selection of this year's draft, the Marelina Bobcats select Foul Line out of the University of North Marelina!"

Hold up. Hold up. Even_ Foul Line_ got drafted ahead of him? Foul Line couldn't score! Sure, he pulled in boards really well. But he had been a sub-par shooter ever since he started playing!

The power forward tried to feel happy for his friend, but all he could feel was the cold embrace of failure. He was turning into a laughingstock. He slowly shut out the world around him and waited for this day to be over.

000

"And with the final selection of this year's draft, the Los Pegasus Lakers select Quick Shot, out of Salt Lick City College!"

That was it. His career was finished before it had even started. Nobody paid attention to undrafted players. Ever. How could this have happened? Dunk was wondering whether he would even play at all. What had gone wrong? He had played the way he had always played at the Rookie Showcase; he thought he had said all the right things.

Why had nobody selected him?

Quietly sobbing, Dunk began walking out of the building, wondering what he was going to do with his life. He had pinned everything on being selected in the first round of the draft. He felt it was only befitting a player of his stature. Now? Undrafted? Now he didn't know what was going to happen.

Walking out, he saw none other than Sure Shot, the Hall of Fame member of the draft's TV coverage, was still around, talking to ponies and seeing what they thought about the day. To maintenance ponies! What did they know about basketball? What insight could they possibly give a Hall of Famer?

Stomaching his pride, Slam Dunk walked up to the legend, determined to try to find out why he hadn't been selected today. Ignoring the annoyed looks the other ponies were giving him, he made it a point to barge in and try to talk to Sure Shot.

"Hey, what are you doing? We were having a conversation, in case you couldn't tell," Shot said.

"Why wasn't I picked today? Why did all those teams pass on me? I'm the best player in this draft!" Dunk said with anger, whole-heartedly believing every word.

"You ever think it's your attitude?" one of the maintenance ponies said to him.

"Yeah, nobody wants to draft a jerk onto their team dude. And I seen your highlights- you can't play defense to save your life," another said.

"What…what are you talking about?" Dunk said. He always played hard! Sure, he had a hard time running a zone versus pony to pony coverage, but he felt he more than made up for it on the other end of the court.

"Look- you score more naturally than anyone I've seen in a while. It's like watching your dad sometimes, the way you just control the offense. But your selfish. Your dad liked to score too, but he knew how to spread the points around, get guys on the board, and get the entire offense in a rhythm. You just try to get yours."

"But I-"

"But nothing. Not only that, you're worse than useless on defense. Whatever points you put up are erased by the other team. You easily make fifteen or twenty mistakes a half that either lead to shots from the line or outright uncontested shots. Just standing in front of your pony doesn't mean you're guarding him."

Slam Dunk fumbled for words, but nothing would come out of his mouth. He wanted to tell Sure Shot that he was wrong, but couldn't.

"The sooner you figure out that the world doesn't revolve around you and that this is a team sport the sooner you'll figure out why you didn't get drafted. Will you make it on a tryout? Probably. Should you be? That's not my call to make. But I'll tell you this. I played in the league for fifteen years. I've seen all kinds of ponies come through teams. And you are without a doubt one of the most selfish ponies I've ever had the displeasure of having to report," Shot finished.

"But," Dunk started to say.

"Not a word. Get out of here. You'll get a call from your agent if anything happens tomorrow," Shot said.

"But I wouldn't hold your breath."

He was speechless. The normally confident, all-star pony had just been crushed by a Hall of Fame EBL player. Defeated, Dunk hung his head low and exited the building, on his way back to his hotel room. He wanted to talk to his dad. His dad would know what to do right now. He would be disappointed in him for sure, but together they would come up with a plan.

He saw Foul Line waiting outside for him, and he walked up to meet his friend. Dunk hadn't seen Foul in a few hours, not since the Bobcats announced that they had picked him. Foul looked like he was happy, which Dunk guessed was a good thing. At least one of them was. They began walking back towards their hotel.

"So, I'm sorry to hear what happened today man," Foul started. Guess there was no letting this one just get brushed under the rug.

"I just don't get it man. Was I really that bad at defense? Do I really let everything but scoring slip in my game?"

Foul waited before he responded. Dunk was getting tired of all these pauses in their conversations lately. As long as he had known Foul, he had never been at a loss for words.

"It's like this man. Everyone says it, you've heard this a million times, but it's true- you have a knack for scoring. You do. You averaged what, twenty five points a game? It's ridiculous. But there's more to the game man!"

"Yeah, a lot of people say that last bit too. So why not let ponies who are better suited for the job do it?" It was a philosophy that Dunk had lived by for years now, and it had seemed to work out at all levels of play. Hell, that's what his dad had done. He had never had impressive numbers in a lot of things, and ponies called him the best player of all time!

"More often than not they do. But check it. Just because you're not the best at something, doesn't mean you don't have to do it. I'm not the best shooter, but if I can add points, I do. Because every little bit counts. It never really mattered with you, because you always had teammates that were able to pick up the slack without a lot of ponies noticing."

Dunk was the one who paused now. Had he really been that lucky the whole time he had been playing? Is that why Sure Shot had said what he did?

"So... but that doesn't make sense! There's no way that was the case! Why didn't anypony say anything?" Dunk was furious. His whole life he had been lied to? Made to be something that he wasn't?

"Nopony wanted to upset your father. You know, the legendary player with a short temper and a propensity for verbal abuse on and off the court."

Despite himself, Dunk felt a smile start to appear on his face. His father had been a legendary trash talker while he had played, and the mindset had just never left him. His father was well known for terrorizing reporters after his retirement.

"That was it? They didn't want to piss off my dad? That was the _only_ reason nobody ever said anything to me?"

That couldn't be it. Surely his dad would want him to realize his potential. To maybe become a better player than him. To forge a brilliant new legacy.

"Well, you never really allowed anyone to say anything. I tried telling you when you first started helping me with shooting that you needed to grab more rebounds. We were the tandem, I grabbed boards and you scored points, but I couldn't get all of them. You need to pick it up man."

What was _this_ attitude? Dunk had known Foul Line for years, dating back to youth league. He had always been his quiet backup, a pony to unload on after a frustrating game or practice. _Never_ had he heard him say anything like this to him.

"You couldn't think to tell me this a few years back man? Maybe help me the way _I_ helped you?"

"I tried man. We all did. But you wouldn't have any of it. You scored more points than half the team in high school, and you thought that meant you were above everyone else's opinion of what you needed to do with your game. Truth be told, I'm surprised your dad didn't mention it to you."

Now _there_ was the biggest shocker. Why _hadn't_ his dad told him how to fix his game? Surely this many people couldn't be wrong about what Dunk needed to improve on. At a loss for words, the conversation stalled and the two players walked the rest of the way in silence.

The time spent reflecting on what had happened that day hadn't helped, and now Dunk was faced with the daunting prospect of calling his father to talk about what had happened.

Arriving at the hotel, Dunk went up to his room and shut the door. Trembling, he picked up his room's phone to make a phone call he thought would never happen.

"Dad, hey, it's me. Don't know if you were watching today… yeah. Yeah. Um… I didn't get drafted."

There was no response for a while. Dunk was beginning to wonder if his father was on the other end when he heard him begin talking.

_"Well, you had to have known this was coming. Sure Shot just got done talking to me. Apparently you and him had words." _

Of course Sure Shot had talked to his dad. He had been the three-point anchor for his dad's championship teams. How could he have possibly forgotten about that? Dunk swallowed and tried to salvage the conversation.

"Yes sir. He told me I couldn't play defense and that I was selfish on the court. I tried to explain myself but I couldn't get a word in."

_"He's right. Look son, I've been trying to tell you this for __**years**__ now. You're a great scorer- hell, you're probably better than me. But you gotta play both sides of the ball. You can't just try to put up points and then expect everyone else to do the work. I __**knew**__ that you would never listen to me about this, and I __**knew**__ you weren't going in the draft. I wanted you to learn this for yourself. Witness it firsthand."_

Each word stung as he heard them. His own father had left him out to dry like that. But why?

"But dad, why would you do that? Why would you just let that happen to me? I wanted to play in the big leagues, just like you! Why can't I do that, huh?"

_"You better calm the buck down there boy-o, lest you find my hoof upside your face. Do you even __**talk **__to your agent? Stupid question, because he talks to me instead. He told me that he was informed by the Kickers that they're willing to let you try out for them next week."_

The Kickers? Perennial losers 'The Kickers'? The same Kickers that hadn't made the playoffs in almost fifteen years? Not playing was almost certainly better than that.

"The Kickers? I don't wanna play for them though!"

_"I'm sorry, I could have sworn the pony I was talking to said he wanted to play in the big leagues. The Kickers are in the damn big leagues! They're the only team willing to give you a shot; every other team passed on you because you're selfish and arrogant, and whining about not wanting to play for them is __**not going to help your situation**__!"_

Slam Dunk didn't respond for a moment. He hadn't heard his father get this angry with him in years. He decided to end the call and brood in silence.

"Yes sir."

With that the conversation was over. Dunk had never liked talking to his dad, and this time was certainly no different.

He felt a sudden ache in his body as the events of the day caught up with him. He had spent hours waiting on the floor, waiting for his name to be called, waiting to show the world that he was ready for the big time. All of it was for nothing.

He laid down in his bed, and wondered what the future would hold.

A/N: Alright, trying something new here. Been on a basketball kick, and this wouldn't leave my head. Let me know what you guys think. Currently working on getting a commission set up for some good cover art. Something all bad-ass and cool. I dunno. If you know anyone who's pretty good at art things, has reasonably good turnaround time, and has good rates (I will fairly compensate someone for their time and effort; just know that cash is not something I have an unlimited amount of; I would probably have more if I didn't play tabletop games) feel free to name-drop the shit out of them in either comments section or drop me a line via PM. This is Za Raapini saying, 'stay classy.' Good night and good luck.


	2. Aftermath

Chapter Two: Aftermath

By Za Raapini

Dunk awoke to a piercing sound rattling his eardrums. While his sleep-addled brain struggled to figure out the source of the noise, he tossed and turned in his bed, fumbling around, when he suddenly he felt very light.

As he lay lay there on the floor, his brain struggling to fully wake up and the same piercing sound driving him nuts, he wondered what his day was going to be like. If the first minute or so of the morning was any indication, he was betting it wouldn't be good. Wait. _Morning_.

He scrambled to his hooves and threw his pillow at his alarm clock. The feather-filled missile struck the clock, the lamp, and the hotel room's phone, and all three went to the ground in a terrible cluster of racket.

It wouldn't be a good day at all.

As he went through his morning routine, Dunk once again went over the previous day. It had been without a doubt the worst one he had ever been through. All thirty teams passed on him. _Twice_. He still didn't fully understand why. So his defense might not have been the greatest. So what if he couldn't pull in rebounds on a regular basis. He was built for scoring!

It wasn't as if any of his other coaches had made a mention of it. **All** his life they had **always** told him to go out there and get his. Throw some jams in there too. There was _nothing_ more exciting than driving to the rim and slamming the ball in right in a pony's face! That's what he was _good_ at. So that's what he was _told_ to do.

So why didn't anypony recognize that he was good at that? Sure, they all said he was great at scoring. They did say that. So shouldn't that have counted for _something_?

Apparently not. Apparently all it was good for was sixty missed opportunities. Opportunities to **be **somepony. Opportunities to live up to the expectations he _thought_ his father had placed on him.

_Yeah, heck of a way __**that**__ turned out. He knew the whole time I wasn't being drafted and that nobody liked the fact I didn't really play defense. Thanks Dad. Appreciate it. Best player of all time and you could never take a few minutes out of your day to teach me some tricks, teach me how to do the things to become better than you._

Dunk was shaken from his thoughts by a loud knock at the door. As he went to open it he wondered who could possibly be visiting him here. _Maybe…oh no, anypony but him, __**please**__anypony but him._

It was him. It was his agent. Top Dollar.

"Heya Dunk, how ya doing today? Not too good I bet, and I feel bad for what happened the other day. I got some coffee, you want some coffee, no, no coffee? Alright fantastic, so let me break down what's going to happen with you."

It was too much. _Now I remember why I never talk to Top. It's not really a conversation. It's a damn speech._

"So anyways, as I was saying, here's what's going on- you're going to try out for the Kickers, since they're the only team in the league that might actually kinda sorta _want_ you on their team. Tracking? Okay good, so here's what we're going to do…" Dunk began tuning him out.

_It's the same thing every time. He talks for forever, never shuts up, starts repeating himself, mentions numbers, and expects me to keep up. I play __**basketball**__, I don't do things like contracts. That's why I have an agent in the first place!_

"And so you'll be flying out later tonight for the tryout which starts in three days, they want you to get to know some of the players and the coaching staff and get you ready for what the tryout will entail nothing too serious just some basic drills on offense and some basic drills on defense some team building exercises some actual practice workouts free throw shooting three point shooting things like that."

"Uh… sounds good I guess? So it's just like a regular practice then is what you're telling me," Dunk said.

"Right except this practice will be watched by people who may or may not want to give you a job depending on how you perform and please for the love of Celestia Dunk _don't_ screw this up! I got your dad breathing down my neck constantly about getting on your case more but I'm worried if I talk to you too much you'll complain to him and look kid this is my first shot at getting someone into the league, it really is and I'm just trying to help you out as much as I can so please work with me on this," Top finished with a twinge of desperation, his eyes darting.

For the first time since he had hired him, Dunk stopped to look at his agent. Top's mane was a mess, and his eyes were bloodshot. He was nervous and jittery, with brown stains on his tie. Anxious didn't even begin to describe him it seemed; the slightest noise made him jump.

For the first time in a while, Dunk began to feel sympathy for someone. They were kind of in the same boat, in a way. Dunk had been passed over, Top had failed to get his client a job. Sure, Top wasn't nearly as awesome at his job like Dunk was, but they were in the same boat regardless. Dunk smiled slightly when Top looked his way.

"Hey, Top. I never really got around to thanking you. I know that my dad isn't easy to deal with, and I'm probably not an improvement. So let's do this. Let's go out to Los Pegasus. Let's go to the tryout. I'm gonna kick some ass, and _you're _gonna get me a contract, and we're going out for a dinner at one of them fancy LP places when we get done!" Dunk said, almost willing Top to agree. He would need the agent's support if he was going to get a contract. _Alls I need is the paper in front of me. Then it'll be smooth sailing. They wouldn't dare give Air Jam's son a bad deal! I just need this guy to get it for me._

"Sure, sure, just need to get a pony a contract with a team not even a good team at that but they do play in one of the more prestigious cities in Equestria but they're a laughingstock team and the only reason they agreed to give you a tryout was to try and draw in a crowd you know 'Air Jam's son' and all that jazz so hopefully you impress them enough to give you an entry level contract three years nothing special."

"Hey, just leave everything to me. I'll show 'em how I play ball, and you and me can go out and celebrate. Just calm down bro. Aight?"

Dunk was now scheming. He was hoping to get Top out of his room so he could finish getting ready, and apparently start getting to LP. He had to work out a spiel to give to the management when he go to their training facility.

Something about how awesome he was at scoring, how he could give them that push they needed at power forward, how he could shoot from beyond the arc or get points in the paint. Emphasize what he was good at. If they wanted exciting moments to draw in ticket holders, Dunk was the pony for them.

He could figure everything else out later. For now, he just wanted a job.


End file.
